Narcissus
by Zamiel
Summary: "The world is your little drama, my dear Genesis."  Morbid Genesis x Sephiroth oneshot.  FFVII: Crisis Core.


Narcissus – Zamiel

A/N: Rated M for not-so-subtle undertones? Maybe I'm just overreacting…

Story takes place shortly after the Genesis vs. Angeal vs. Sephiroth battle in FFVII: Crisis Core

* * *

It is the first thing that captures the eye – an aberration of skin, dark and angry and ugly against the surrounding pale surface; a flaw so unforgivable he's tempted to burn it right off, to raze right through with a pinprick of flame and char it down to rubble.

Amazing what a mere few hours could do with a wound. Sometime after he'd walked away from the fight, it had blossomed from a raw pink to an evil, tenacious red that clung onto him, leeched his shoulder, created a bent chasm of flesh that slowly hemorrhaged like an hourglass, _tick tick tick_ in reds all the way down to his rib cage. He recalled reading somewhere that the average human breathed a total of fifteen times per minute – for him, that meant 4500 breaths as his left shoulder had decayed, a complete monopolization of air, all the life force holding him together as he fell apart. The thought could piss him off, if he chose to entertain it any further.

_Shut up. Just keep breathing for now._

Squinting through the dark, he watches it glisten in the mirror's dirty reflection, every jagged edge seared into his brain. A testament of defeat. Embarrassing that he could be so easily branded - like a heifer ready to be herded back to the kennels. Docile. Useless. Useless as the arm that protests and burns when he raises it over his head. Domesticated. Tamed.

"Just a scratch, eh?" echoes a voice from behind. Genesis gives a start, stars forming in his eyes as he is jolted out of his stupor and his arm crashes the side of the bureau. A long silhouette arches, ragged laughter accompanying the gesture as Sephiroth materializes from the corner, his face cast in the shadows. "_Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul_," he sneers a quote from Loveless as he edges closer, "_pride is lost…" _A heavy pause. Genesis staggers, his escape obstructed by the bureau pressing against his side. He watches as Sephiroth's features melt into the light – the long Greek nose, an eye beading blue, the hint of teeth glimmering from between two thin lips. The SOLDIER's footsteps make no noise as he walks the floor, the silence weighty and unnerving save for the haggard breathing tearing inside Genesis' skull.

"I've forgotten how the rest goes." As Sephiroth draws unnervingly close, Genesis is suddenly all too aware of his own vulnerability, the dried blood plastered to his bare skin so alien from Sephiroth's flawless, unmarked form. It occurs to him that he's never seen Sephiroth bleed, the albino flesh unmarred by any kind of scar. It is porcelain, unbreakable, and the desire to break it, shatter it, reduce it to nothing more than shards, instantaneously claws into Genesis, has him racking a dry cough that kicks through the wound and causes his body to double over as though he were bowing before the bastard, the silver-haired monster who had so easily crippled him.

"Remind me," Sephiroth insists, eyes shining with amusement. "How does it go after that?"

"_Wings stripped away, the end is nigh_," Genesis mumbles, loathing the satisfaction it grants the other SOLDIER. They are standing chest to chest, the closeness unbearable and unforgiving, Genesis shirking backwards as the bureau corner digs deeper into his side. But letting show any weakness - any flinch, any small word of protest - would mean losing face, shattering the last of his pride and turning into a subservient creature that served as a mere toy. Steeling himself, he musters up the strength to return Sephiroth's ice-cold gaze, letting his mouth bend into an insolent smirk.

"How'd you find me?" he asks.

Sephiroth lets loose a low chuckle, breath warm against Genesis' forehead. "I can always," he says, the tip of his tongue barely teasing Genesis' skin, "smell your regal self-obsession from miles away."

"Is that so." It was a fight to the death to keep his voice steady.

"The world is _your _little drama, my dear Genesis." He can almost hear Sephiroth edge in a smile, the point of his teeth just visible. "Obsession is your hobby, of which you allow me to partake in. _Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return. To become the dew that quenches the land, to spare the sands, the seas, the skies. _How many times have I heard those lines? And how much more will I hear them?"

"Perhaps until you die, General."

"Until _I _die?" Until now, Genesis would have never thought it possible for someone to sound angry and amused at the same time. "And I suppose you think yourself to be the one to finish me off?" A sudden pang rips through the side of his shoulder; glancing down, Genesis sees Sephiroth's fingers rake against his wound and gently dig at the torn flesh. Stifling the urge to yell, Genesis sinks his teeth into his lower lip, muffling any possibility of sound.

"Well?" asks Sephiroth almost coyly, raising one long eyebrow.

"I missed the question." His voice strained, it comes out as a thin hiss between the teeth. Genesis almost loathes himself for betraying his pain.

"I was just commenting on your audacity to think that I will die before you do." The fingers dig deeper in, a cold trail of blood dribbling steady down Genesis' torso and side. "Must I put you in your place?"

Sephiroth punctuates his statement with a malicious pierce, the impact so sudden it takes a full blown minute for Genesis to feel its force, the blood sticky wet and warm on his skin. It comes in an excruciating rush, poisonous and crucifying, nerve ends lit on fire as he throws his head back to scream. Sephiroth's smile of all teeth bleeds through the haze of Genesis' tears, reminds him of a feral, carnivorous beast bent on making his prey squirm.

"Can you remember the lines of Loveless even like this, I wonder?" Genesis instinctively knows it is not a rhetorical question. It is a command. Drawing near, the SOLDIER presses his mouth next to Genesis' ear. "Show me if you can," he hisses. "_My friend, the fates are cruel_. Start from there. And don't stop until I tell you to."

"The hell—" growls Genesis, choking out a cry as Sephiroth's fingers twist the broken flesh.

"_My friend, the fates are cruel—" _begins Sephiroth. Genesis licks the dryness off his lips, helplessly trying to repress the words that stutter out in spite of himself.

"—_there are…no dreams…no…honor…remains…" _Each syllable is thrashed from his mouth, Sephiroth decorating certain words with a voracious dig, penetrating deeper into the wound. "_The arrow…has left…_gah…unnh…_the bow of…the…_annhh…_goddess…"_

"Keep going."

"_My soul corrupted…_shhhaaa…_by vengeance_…_hath endured torment…_"

It is a perversion, the very creed of Genesis now being used against him, nothing more than fuel for Sephiroth's pleasure. He hates himself for complying, for writhing beneath the shining bemusement glinting in Sephiroth's eyes. He hates every word that trespasses his mouth, hates that he is not able to save them from this exploitation, hates the weakness of his body turning him into a complacent machine. He bends and breaks under Sephiroth's clawing fingers, the weight of his betraying Loveless and turning it into something dirty, unclean. His throat is dry again from gobbling too much air, panting wildly as Sephiroth slowly retreats his hand, holding it up for Genesis to inspect. Genesis looks at the blood cascading in rivulets down the SOLDIER's fingers, such long perfect fingers, teeth gnashing from aftershocks of pain and mentally grinding those beautiful fingers to powder. The color of his blood is a rich shade of fine cabernet, ripe and youthful, and it stirs pangs of hatred within him, a malice that knuckles in and hurts even more than the torture he'd endured.

"And now finish with a fanfare," Sephiroth smirks. "Tell me what Angeal told me back when we were playing together."

_Playing together_. Genesis stifles a howl of protest. Meanwhile his surroundings have dissolved in a thick haze, Sephiroth barely visible in the mist.

"All hail Sephiroth," Genesis mutters, voice scathing in spite of himself. Sephiroth's mouth settles again on his ear, voice silky and dangerous as he _tsks_.

"I didn't hear you."

"All hail Sephiroth."

"Louder." He holds up the bloodstained hand as a warning; Genesis crumbles at the sight.

"All hail Sephiroth!"

"Good." A scattered laugh is thrown his way. "Good work, SOLDIER. Such diligence may reward you in the future."

Stepping back, Sephiroth dissolves back into the night. The room swirls before Genesis' eyes into a cesspool of black as he collapses onto the floor, the rest of his senses lost under a blanket of static. He momentarily surrenders to this mercy, allows himself to be pulled in and devoured, the echo of Sephiroth's laugh still stinging his ears.


End file.
